


The sequel at least 219 of you wanted

by R3ads2MuchDouj1n



Series: White briefs....brief here meaning short, whcih is what these are. [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Small Penis, Sorry Not Sorry, cannon? I don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 04:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20168353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R3ads2MuchDouj1n/pseuds/R3ads2MuchDouj1n
Summary: So, this seems to be a market worth investing in. Hope you enjoy.





	The sequel at least 219 of you wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Again. I don't know the cannon and I don't see how it would be relevant to this scenario; mama was thirsty that's all.

Peter's phone buzzed as he gently peeled his, now ruined, hoodie off of the mirror he forgot he had, he gingerly placed the soiled cloth on the ground and picked up the phone from where it lay in the crumpled mess of his jeans. He went to pick it up with his right hand, which was still dripping with an odd mix of Aveeno and...other things, then decided that his left hand would be preferable. He clicked it open with clumsy fingers and checked his messages, there was one new one, from his aunt, _great_, he thought, _because i didn't feel guilty already, okay just check_, clicking on the message he found one simple typed sentence: Going to be a few hours later than expected, dinner is in the oven.

Peter nearly dropped the phone, but, he felt a sudden twitch of hardening flesh, looking down he saw the three inches he called his sticking awkwardly out from the forest of his pubes once again. Peter licked his lips, looked around his room and weighed his options. He quickly kicked off the white briefs to join the rest of the discarded outfit in the corner, then rushing to the window he'd forgotten was wide open, shut the blinds with a sharp click, then jumped back to his dresser with a trembling hand and fearful tremor in his chest. He opened the topmost drawer and looked over the row upon row of neatly folded sets of white briefs; when he'd does this he'd just bee trying to make getting dressed in the morning more efficient, now though he could think of nothing so much as picking out candy in a vending machine. 

He delicately pinched the upper corner of a soft white square of fabric and pulled it out to reveal a perfect cartoon image of what white briefs were. Sliding them up his legs he felt the fresh, crisp fabric bristle against every hair on his legs and finally he felt them gently hug and cup his ass, he ran one hand over his backside, feeling the dip and rise of the muscles, feeling the stretch of the elastic, he then remembered one of his hands was somewhat out of commission, looking around his tiny box of a room he found nothing. till he looked back at his already ruined hoodie. 

After wiping off his hand he approaches the bed, keeping his white socks on he lifted up the blankets and reached over, grabbed one of his pillows and placed it so it was perpendicular to the bed, then his throbbing member sticking out of his briefs, stretching the already stretched fabric to a small dampened point, Peter slid it through the Y-front and let it out, and lifting up the pillow cover inserted himself into the soft embrace. His hard member faced periods of warmth and cold in extremes, it was only in there for a short amount of time, sliding in and out as he bent his knees and legs to be on level with the pillow, his bed began to creak with every thrust. 

And he felt, in the soft comfort of his white shorts the rough grating of the pillow fabric against his stub, he pushed and bunched it up so it feel more like he was pushing himself into something. he closed his eyes and tried to picture something, anything, but nothing came to mind, so opening them he looked down at the mechanical back and forth thrust of his white-clad hips into the plaid of his pillow cover. Again Peter felt that bubble of pressure building in his chest, in his abdomen, his movements became faster, his legs slipped and raggedly slipped all over the floor and he painfully, clumsily pressed himself further into the pillow, as the pressure built, he tried to hold it in it, tried to force his little member to reverse flow, but he felt it coming now, felt it building, felt that there now was something hot and liquid and it shot out of him in a ragged burst of sloppy,w et, hot fluid, and he spasm'd and jerked about, his body stitching till he lay there, cold and silent, climaxing into a cushion.


End file.
